Quarrel
by Cherry chain
Summary: Haytham tries to strike a casual conversation with his son


AN: This was just a writing exercise. I started writing with no real direction or purpose, except to practise some dialogue and writing Haytham because I intend to play him in a Role-play. So don't expect anything really amazing. I didn't even intend to post this until my roomate pushed me to.

Edit: Wow! I didn't expect such a great response to this piece! Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I'm glad people enjoyed reading!

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January 29th, 1778, Aboard the Aquila

"_Dead. Murdered."_

As Haytham woke the details of his dreams slipped away alarmingly fast. As he opened his eyes he remembered little more than flames, the acrid smell of burning, and the haunting words spoken by his son only two days prior.

Dead. Murdered.

He didn't know what to think of the news. There was some sorrow of course, but though he had loved Ziio, she had left his life two decades ago. Maybe there was some disappointment, that Charles and the others had ignored his orders, leading to the creation of their greatest enemy today. But what disturbed him the most was simply the expression on his son's face when Connor had said those words. So much frustration and hate distorting those features so like his mothers and Haytham's own.

Haytham sat up, looking around the small room he'd been given for the trip. The Aquila was not a ship designed with comfort in mind, with the "room" being barely large enough for his bed, a chest for what little belongings he had brought, and a small table he could write on from his bed. A tiny window near the top of the room wearily leaked in the weak light of morning. It felt like a prison cell.

Of course, it might as well have been. He was the Templar Grandmaster, alone on an Assassin ship. Connor hadn't even given Haytham enough time to bring some of his own men aboard. The Assassin had been very clear that they were to sail immediately and Haytham could either get aboard, or screw off. If it hadn't been Connor, the Templar would have decided to risk staying behind and waste time getting a ship of his own rather than essentially allowing himself to be captured. But if his son was anything, he was an honest, honourable, fool. Haytham had little doubt that he will be allowed to walk free and unharmed when they returned from this trip. _Mostly _unharmed.

As he got up and began to get dressed, he was careful not to disturb his various new wounds. The ambush at the brewery and subsequent run through a collapsing, burning, building had not left him unscathed. Not to mention the part where Connor had used him as a battering ram to get through the barred door. The cuts and bruises for that little stunt will stay with him for weeks, and Haytham counted himself lucky that his spine was still intact.

He made his way up to the deck, feeling less than inclined to stay in his little prison cell all day. As he stepped out under the open sky, Haytham thought that it seemed a good day for sailing, though he knew little about such matters. There were few clouds in the sky, there was a strong but steady, wind, and the sea seemed relatively calm.

There were a few sailors on deck that were working or just lounging around, and most chose to ignore Haytham as if he wasn't there. Obviously Connor has had a talk with his crew. Either be courteous to their passenger, or don't contact him at all. He didn't want any fights aboard. Most men opted for the second option it seemed, which suited Haytham just fine.

He thought to head to the gunwales, to simply enjoy the wind and the sight of the vast, endless ocean, but a flash of dark blue at the edge of his vision changed his mind. He headed for the stern, up the helm, where _Captain_ Connor was overseeing the ship. His captain's coat was such a contrast with his usual Assassin's robes Haytham had almost not recognized his son when he had first changed.

"Good morning Connor." Haytham greeted, glad to see that first mate Faulkner was nowhere to be seen. The man had been rather vocal in his objections against the Templar.

"Good morning." Connor responded with little enthusiasm. "What do you want?"

Straight to the point, huh? Haytham sighed, disappointed at his son's lack of tact. Connor had inherited a lot of things from his father, his charisma not being one of them.

"What makes you think I want anything? Am I not allowed to simply greet my son?"

Connor shot him a look -it was _not_ a kind look- and Haytham threw his hands up, his heads shaking as if he were admitting defeat.

"Fine, fine. I was just wondering if you could tell me a little more about yourself." He admitted, leaning against the railings by the wheel.

"And why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity." He grinned, echoing an answer he has given once before. "You're my son, and I barely know anything about you."

"I'm glad to learn of the incompetence of Templar spies."

Haytham chose to ignore that. He knew a lot more than Connor was aware of course, but there's no point in announcing it.

"So, how did you come by your English name? Did your mother give it to you?"

"No. Achilles did. It attracts less attention in the cities."

As if he could attract any less attention with his usual white hooded robes while armed to the teeth. Likely the old man had simply tired of tripping over his own tongue trying to pronounce whatever the boy's real name was.

"And your real name?" Might as give it a try. Connor shot him an annoyed look.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton." Was it just him, or did Haytham hear a twinge of pride in his son's voice?

"Doon-ga-hay-din?" Curse these foreign, unpronounceable names."You know what, never mind. Connor it is."

He saw the edge of Connor's mouth twitch. The boy was holding back a smile; so he _does_ have a sense of humour. At least Haytham doesn't think he butchered it as badly as he did Kaniehtí:io's name.

"So, would you like to ask anything of me?" Haytham continued casually.

"I care little." Ouch.

"You're not very good at this are you? Giving information without ensuring you gain some yourself? What has Achilles been teaching you other than how to swing a blade around?"

"I fail to see what is important about telling you my name."

"Ah, but names _are_ important Connor, to the giver of the name if not the receiver. I'm sure if I knew your language and your customs, I would be able to see your Mother in yours."

Connor's face hardened, though Haytham had almost missed the subtle change in expression. Did he hit a nerve? Did the boy's name mean more than Haytham knew? Or was it something about his mother?

"Fine then, tell me about yours. Haytham is not a common name either."

This was probably the closest to a normal conversation he'll ever have with his son, Haytham realized. Even if Connor was so overly hostile the entire time, it was…nice.

"That's because it's Arabic. It means _Little Eagle_. My father decided to name me in the traditional Assassin style, ironically enough." Haytham looked at Connor closely to see his son's reaction to this bit of information, and was not disappointed. The boy did little to hide his shock and confusion.

"Your father was an Assassin?"

"Your _Grandfather_, if you don't mind. You will show him some respect, even if you refuse to show me any. To answer your question, yes, he was an Assassin." He's got Connor's attention now. "You'd have liked him. He was a great man. Believed in the Brotherhood and, what do you call it? _The Creed_. A nobler man you'd be hard pressed to find."

"You betrayed him?" There was an edge in Connor's voice, with a touch of confusion. Haytham was talking about his father, his _Assassin_ father, with no small amount of pride. It did not seem a strained relationship. Like their own.

"Yes, I did, if you would call your own joining of the Brotherhood a betrayal against me." Haytham shot back. "My Father died before he could tell me who he was. I was taken in by the Templars. Nothing they taught me conflicted with my father's teachings. We're not as different as you might think."

Haytham smiled as he saw watched his son putting the pieces together.

"Funny how things work out. I would have become an Assassin if my Father had survived that night. You would have become a Templar if your mother had not left me." He waited for the response with no small amount of interest, though he kept it out of his voice.

"She would have never stayed with you. You couldn't be trusted. You tricked her, used her for your own goals."

Haytham could tell that it was Connor's anger talking, twisting his memory of his mother's words. That's not how Ziio had thought of him. She had loved him.

"No, she didn't leave because she couldn't trust me, she left because of you. She left when she knew she was with child for the same reason you haven't so much as a bedded a woman, let alone sustain a relationship." Haytham noted that Connor suddenly seemed embarrassed, looking away. Bloody hell, was he actually right? He hadn't meant the statement literally. "Loved ones become a deadly burden, doing what we do, Connor. We earn a lot of enemies over the years. She was scared. Not for herself –I've never met a braver woman than your mother- but she was scared for you. And for me. If she had stayed with me, her and my son would have become my weaknessess, targets."

It was the only reason that could have caused her to drive him away. It must have been to protect her unborn child and the man she loved.

"Those are some pretty lies you tell yourself."

Haytham's face hardened as those words cut through his thoughts.

"How dare you." His voice was dangerous.

"You still defend the man who killed her. You don't care at all do you? Mother saw right through you."

A flash of silver later, Connor had taken a step back from the wheel, his head tilted up to avoid the blade at his throat. He had drawn his own pistol, resting the barrel against Haytham's chest, right at the heart.

"You don't understand anything _boy_. I loved your mother. Don't underestimate her. She knew me yes, and that's why she chose me." Haytham backed off, letting his hidden blade slide back into its mechanism as Connor slowly put his pistol back in its holster. The two never took their eyes off each other.

"You're not like her at all Connor. You don't know men. You are quick to judge, and you judge wrongly. Tell me, how many of those who died at your hands truly deserved it?"

"Some men need to die."

"Oh I don't dispute that. I'm only beginning to wonder if you're one of them."

"Is that a threat?" A dangerous smile twisted Connor's lips, a smile that did not reach his eyes. He was tense, like a coiled hunter, waiting to see what Haytham would do. The Templar was suddenly very much aware again of the fact that he was on his own.

Someone was approaching Haytham from behind, and he turned warily to face the newcomer. It was Faulkner, looking none too pleased at the Templar.

"Is something the matter here, Captain?"

By the tone of the first mate's voice, the little exchange with weapons between father and son had not gone unnoticed. The man had his hand down by his pistol.

"Nothing at all. In fact, I was just leaving. Good day." Haytham tipped his hat the captain and first mate. Acting as if the conversation simply had not happened, he casually strolled away from the Helm.

That had not gone well, to say the least. He had begun talking with Connor in hopes of pushing his son to start asking the right questions, to begin to catch even a glimmer of the truth.

Haytham had allowed his own anger get in the way of that. Connor's accusations had hurt.

June 17th, 1778, Valley Forge

"_You have SAID much, yes. But you have SHOWN me nothing."_

"_Then we'll have to remedy that then, won't we..."_

Haytham watched Connor grab a horse from the stables and gallop away to save his people. Alone. What had Haytham expected? That after he revealed the truth his son would realize his folly and join his father? Whatever he had expected, it wasn't for Connor to cut all ties with him.

Maybe he had been a little tactless with revealing the incriminating evidence. He had been too excited to find the letter at such an opportune moment, when Connor was there before his hero, with no time for Washington to prepare any defense. He should have known that the boy would not listen to reason, would not realize why Haytham had not revealed such information earlier. Connor had to hear it from Washington himself- he would not have believed it if it had been Haytham who revealed the truth to him.

"Do you know what you have put that boy through?" Haytham asked the silent Washington beside him.

"Hardly a boy now." The response was quiet, subdued. Washington was still trying to piece everything together.

"You're avoiding the question General. To answer for you, as you must have figured out from our little exchange, the village you burned down fourteen years ago was Connor's. His mother died in that attack."

"The natives were helping our enemies. I did what I had to-"

"I'm not the one you should be giving your excuses to."

He was alone with Washington. The soldiers knew and trusted Connor enough to allow their audience in privacy. Connor had left in such a haste he did not ensure Washington's safety. (Though if he cared to now was debatable) Haytham could kill the general right there, right now.

"You know, he's a lot like me in a way." Haytham continued talking, dropping his voice to a casual, conversational tone. Just like a regular chat between some old friends. "I saw my father die. His killers burned down my home and took my sister away. I spent years hunting down the man responsible. I eventually found him. Do you know who it was?"

"Who?" Washington looked wary, not sure where the story was going. He seemed to be casting his gaze towards the nearest soldiers. Obviously, he did not feel safe with the Templar.

"A dear friend, whom I had grown to trust over the years. He shared my goals, my ideals. Much like you, he did what he did to further a cause. A cause I had adopted as my own."

"I see, must have been hard." Washington had moved away from Haytham, a hand going to his sword.

"Do you know what the difference between me and Connor is?"

Haytham patted his own sword, a dangerous smile twisting his features. He didn't give the general a chance to respond.

"I was willing to kill the man."

Then he left.


End file.
